Cleave
by giadysik
Summary: Sometimes we just don't get what really want. How do we deal with that? Unrequited Ambrollins. Angst.


A/N: Thanks for the reviews on the last story. Here's a new one.

**Cleave  
**

_cleave: noun. 1. To break apart. 2. To cling to._

"Dean? What the hell...?"

Seth let the question die away as he took in the sate of Dean's hotel room.

It looked like place had been tossed into a blender and shredded: bedding and clothes all over the floor, beer bottles in weedy patches all over the place, lamps knocked over, thick smell of sex and booze and cigarettes blanketing the room like a fog.

Dean was sprawled out face-down on the skewed bed, wearing just a pair of jeans. His back was a mess of angry red scratch marks and small welts.

Seth couldn't tell if he was asleep or passed out.

The man Dean had evidently just had sex with – a tall, skinny guy with shaggy dark hair and a beard – was in the process of pulling his jacket on. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, the skin around his throat looked red, and his hands were shaking so bad he had trouble getting his coat zipped.

He didn't look at Seth at all.

"You all right, man?" Seth asked him.

"Yes," the dude said as jammed his feet into his boots. He swiped a set of up keys off the table and stalked across the room, head down, messy dark hair curtaining his eyes. "Careful – dude's a fucking psycho."

He slammed the door shut behind him.

Teeth grit, Seth turned to look at the bed again.

The first text had read, _Can you come by._

The second had read, _are you coming._

The last had read, _never mind. fuck you anyway._

Dean had sent them over the course of the last two hours. Seth hadn't gotten any of them until ten minutes ago. He'd been down in Jey Uso's room with Roman and a few other guys, partying after another awesome pay-per-view match. Things were pretty noisy, so he hadn't heard his phone.

He finally got around to checking his messages, and had frowned over the last one.

_Fuck you anyway_.

He'd shown that to Roman, who shook his head. "He's probably just drunk again," he'd said. "Ignore it, man."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Seth had said, pocketing his phone. "Think I'm gonna head up for a minute anyway."

Roman had opened his mouth to say something – argue, probably – but wound up just shrugging. "Well, call me if you want me to come up."

Seth had smiled, grateful, and had left.

Now, standing in the wreckage of Dean's hotel room, Seth found himself reaching for his phone.

He stopped his hand halfway, though, and instead kicked the fucking mattress hard enough to rattle the bedframe. "Dude, wake the fuck up."

"Go 'way," Dean said, his voice muffled.

Seth folded his arms over his chest and stared down at the back of Dean's head. "What happened here?"

"None of your fuckin' business."

"Who was the dude?"

"I dunno, some piece of ass I met at the bar."

"Nice."

Dean rolled over and sat up. He did it slowly, like he was underwater, and wound up dropping his head into his hands. "Why're you here?" Sounded like he was talking through a mouthful of gravel. "Told you never mind."

"And 'fuck you anyway,'" Seth said. He backed up to lean against the dresser. "I know shit's still pretty messed up with us right now, but you shutting me down like this? It ain't fucking helping. You gotta deal with this shit, man."

It probably wasn't the best time for this, not with Dean swaying drunk, but God knew they hadn't gotten anywhere sober.

Glassy, bloodshot eyes focused on Seth's face. "I am."

Seth gestured expansively at the carnage around them. "You call _this_ dealing? What about the dude who just left? The fuck was _that_ all about?"

"Jus' havin' a little fun," Dean said, this time without heat. His face was ashy pale as he dragged himself up out of the bad. "Now fuck off. 'M fine."

Before Seth could answer, Dean staggered off to the bathroom, and slammed the door shut so hard the pictures rattled.

The walls were not thick enough to block the sound of him puking. It came through loud and clear.

Seth bit his lip and shook his head.

As much as he wanted to walk out, though, he didn't just yet.

Guilt, or something like it, kept him right where he was, and that was a fucking joke, wasn't it?

This wasn't even his fault.

He pushed away from the dresser and went to work cleaning up some of the mess. That much, at least, he _could_ do something about. With Dean still upchucking in the background, Seth threw all the empty beer bottles in the trash (there were eighteen), threw all Dean's clothes in the vicinity of his suitcase, and dumped the whole wad of bedding back onto the mattress.

As he went to grab a couple more empty bottles off the nightstand, though, he stopped dead at what he saw peeking out from between Dean's lighter and a couple of condom wrappers.

Clear plastic bag about the size of two stamps set side-by-side. It was an eighth of the way full of white powder.

Seth doubted it was sugar.

"Son of a _bitch_," he muttered, swiping it up. "_Fuck_."

He marched straight to the bathroom and slapped the door open. The stink of vomit and alcohol and stale sweat slapped him hard and made his stomach twist, but he swallowed past the nausea and walked in.

Dean had sunk into a miserable-looking hunch against the side of the bathtub, knees pulled up to his chest, one hand over his eyes.

Seth stood over him and held out the little baggie. "Mind telling me what the fuck _this_ is?" he snapped.

"What?" Dean muttered. He lowered his hand and squinted up with bleary eyes. "Blow. I think. Said that's what it was."

"Who said that?"

"_Him_. The..." Dean flapped his hand clumsily at the door. "The guy."

Seth sat down on the edge of the tub, and dug his knee into Dean's bare shoulder. "The dude who just left?"

"Yeah."

"Did he bring it?"

"Yeah. Wanted to party."

"You party with him?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"I didn't fuckin do any. I don't."

Seth searched Dean's haggard face for signs of a lie, but if there was one there he couldn't find it. Dean just looked burnt out and a little pissed off. Something in Seth's chest loosened, and he breathed out his relief in a quiet sigh. He flicked the baggie into the toilet, and reached over Dean's head to flush it – and everything else still in there – away.

It took away the worst of the smell with it, too.

Most of Seth's anger, too, but there was still a stony part of him that refused to accept Dean was innocent.

It was that part of him that said, "You shouldn't even be around that shit, man. You slip and they pop you for a piss test, you're screwed."

Dean pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Not gonna slip, man. Didn't even know he had it 'til he was already here."

"Well, be more careful anyway, all right?" Seth said. "Jesus. It ain't just you that would go down if you went off the rails. You ever stop to think about that? Me and Roman are out there with you, and if you fall down, we're gonna fall too. You're like my brother, man. You had my back when nobody else did. I know that. But I ain't gonna sit here and let you pull me and Roman down. So if you got a problem, let's just fucking deal with it."

"I don't. Told you, 'm not doing that shit."

"I'm not not talking about drugs." Seth reached over and settled a hand on the back of Dean's neck. "I'm talking about all this other shit. Why did you want me to come by?"

"I dunno. Talk. Figure this shit out."

Two months ago, Dean kissed him. Dean was drunk. Seth was sober. The next morning, Dean played it off like nothing happened. That was fine as far as Seth was concerned. He was straight, and was in the process of picking out an engagement ring for his girlfriend.

Six week ago, Dean groped him. Dean was halfway sober. Seth was all the way sober. They pretended nothing happened. That was fine as far as Seth was concerned. He decided to go with the more expensive of the two rings.

A month ago, Dean kissed him again. They were both sober. Dean admitted he wanted something to happen. Seth had been as gentle as he could when he said no. His girlfriend had said yes when he'd given her the ring and asked her to marry him.

Dean played it off like it was okay.

It wasn't.

So here they were, the two of them in this cold white hotel bathroom, harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, everything unnaturally bright and exposed, Seth perched on the very edge of the bathtub with his friend and teammate in a drunken slouch on the floor next to him.

All this just because he said no.

He squeezed the back of Dean's neck, lightly, and said, "Well, okay, I guess we're on the same page, then. I'm not really sure what else you expect me to say. I mean, you know I'm getting married. Even if I wasn't, I'm into dudes. I'm not wired that way. So nothing would ever happen. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is."

"I know."

"Then why's this so hard?"

"Because you keep tryin' to talk to me about it."

"No, I don't."

"Every time I fuckin' see you, you gotta ask me if I'm okay, how I'm doing, how things're goin'. You know? Like I got somethin' wrong with me." Dean leaned against Seth's leg, his head coming to rest against the side of Seth's thigh. "So I got a thing for you. I want you. Can't stop thinking about you. So fuckin' what? I jus' gotta deal with it."

Seth carded fingers through Dean's sweaty hair, absently, almost like he was petting a dog. It oddly calming after the little jolt Dean saying 'I want you' gave him. "Yeah," he said at last. "What do you want me to do, then?"

"Leame 'lone about it." Dean yawned. "Lemme deal with it."

"Long as when you say 'deal with it' you don't mean shit like this."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Dean-"

"'M gonna do what I wanna do." The words were a quiet, sleepy mush. "'S my life. 'M havin' fun."

Seth looked around the bathroom and then back down. Dean's eyes had closed. "You better not be fucking falling asleep," he said, shaking his leg. "And you call_ this _fun?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Dean."

"Hmm?"

"Seriously, man, wake up. You can't sleep in here. Come on. Let's get you to bed."

"Mm, not yet," Dean mumbled. "Gimme a sec. Dizzy."

Seth gave an irritated huff and moved his hand away from Dean's head. "Whose fucking fault is that, man? That isn't 'fun,' it's fucking pathetic, you drinking yourself to this point. You think me and Roman are always gonna be here to clean up after you?"

"I c'n take care of myself."

"Yeah, you're doing a great job right now."

Dean wrapped an arm around Seth's leg. "Sorry I love you."

Seth just shook his head. "God dammit, Dean," he said, "don't say shit like that. You don't love me. You just think you do. But even if you did," he added, "you don't have to be sorry about it." He pushed Dean off his leg and stood up. "Let's get you to bed, all right? Sleep this shit off. We can finish this in the morning."

Dean was about as coordinated as a newborn foal, but he managed to get up on his own. He braced himself over the sink long enough to rinse his mouth out and drain a glass of water. While he did that, Seth took a quick look at the scratches and welts on Dean's back.

There were quite a few of them, mostly around his shoulders, but none of them had broken the skin.

They left the bathroom, Dean staggering under his own power and Seth right behind just in case. Dean flopped face-down on the bed again, right in the middle of the pile of bedding.

Seth patted his leg. "All right, man, I'm out. Get some sleep. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Mm-kay," Dean said thickly. "Love you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Seth said. "I love you too, you crazy asshole. Like a brother. Good night."

Sometimes it just wasn't worth fighting about.

There was no answer this time.

Seth was careful not to slam the door on his way out.

Five minutes later, he sank down next to Roman Jey Uso's couch.

Roman raised his eyebrows and passed over the beer Seth had left. "Everything okay?"

Seth took a drink and wrinkled his nose. The beer had gone flat. He set the bottle on the coffee table and finally turned to look at Roman. "No," he said. "Not yet. But we're getting there."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, man." Seth smiled and clapped Roman's shoulder. "Think we'll be all right."

_I hope._

**End**


End file.
